


Ashy Snow and Crimson Bandages

by honeybeb



Series: My Knight, My Liege, My Love [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Descriptions of wounds, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda?, Knight Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, No Smut, Post Battle, Prince GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Sharing a Bed, dream is a dumbass as always, lil fluff, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29327514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybeb/pseuds/honeybeb
Summary: "Dream pushes against George harder...kissing him with the fervor and fire of a man who faced death straight in the eye and came home alive."...or that in which Dream is dumb and gets hurt, and George has to deal with it.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: My Knight, My Liege, My Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143086
Comments: 25
Kudos: 285





	Ashy Snow and Crimson Bandages

**Author's Note:**

> here's the next installation of the knight!dream series!  
>  _psst, if you haven't read the first installation you should do that it's pretty good /hj ___

His feet hit the ground hard on the stone floors as he runs through the empty halls of the castle. The night is bitter and cold and snow beats down on the soft earth. 

George keeps running. 

Inside the castle is too quiet. The heat from the bodies that normally fill the castle is gone and the chill runs deep in George’s bones. Even at the late hour, there should still be servants attending to their duties, knights patrolling the hallways, maids doing the last of the cleaning before going to sleep. 

Tonight there is none of that. Tonight there is only the sound of his heavy breathing and feet against the ground. 

Outside the castle, somewhere in the thick forest that surrounds the castle grounds, there is chaos. George tries to block out the distant yells and hint of ash in the air that burns in the back of his throat. 

His chest heaves and even in the harsh cold he starts to break a sweat, but he keeps running. 

Gods be damned, why is the castle so big? 

He rounds the corner and nearly slams into the door of the sickbay. His hands fumble with the knob of the door and it swings open violently. The room smells like blood and is full of groans of men who will not see the light of tomorrow’s morning. George just hopes that Dream won’t be one of those men. 

His eyes desperately search every inch of the room, looking for just a hint of the honey blonde hair and soft smile that have been etched into every part of his brain. 

He steps forwards, his hands balled together, vision tunneled on the dozens of injured men laying on makeshift cots, blood seeping through thin bandages and hands outstretched for a comfort that isn’t there. 

A gentle hand taps his shoulder lightly. 

“Your highness?” A soft voice says to the back of his head. 

George whips around. 

A short woman stands in front of him, probably one of the nurses. Her face is soft and full of concern. 

“Your highness, you really shouldn't be here.”

George thinks he might start crying at how tender and caring she sounds. He pulls his brain back together and forces out a few words. 

“Ser Dream,” he says, exasperated. “Where is he?”

She sighs, a sad smile on her face. 

“You’re not going to leave, are you?”

He shakes his head. 

Another sigh from the young nurse. 

“Your knight is in one of the back rooms with the doctor.”

There’s a heavy emphasis on the “your”, and if it weren’t for the severity of the situation George probably would have blushed at the implication. He stops to think of something to say back. 

All he can rummage up is a hushed thank you under his breath, so fast that she probably doesn’t even hear it before he runs off in search of his knight. 

He tries his best not to sprint as he makes his way through the crowded ward of bleeding, wounded soldiers.

His fingers trace the walls lightly as he passes through a hallway of rooms, peeking through the slightly open doors. He winces at some of the friendly faces he knows that now lay immobile in the beds, but none are the person that he so desperately seeks.

So when a familiar glimpse of flaxen hair catches his eye, he wastes no time and no formalities in throwing open the door and rushing in. 

The door slams against the wall and faces turn to look at George who, now regretting his brash decision, stands in front of them. His eyes lock with Dream’s and he rushes over to the injured man, trying to restrain himself from just throwing himself onto Dream. 

“Hey, George.” Dream groans.

Tears start to well up in his eyes as George’s hand goes to reach for Dream’s face out of pure habit. 

“You idiot,” he says, fondly. “you could've gotten yourself killed out there.” 

Dream laughs, it’s breathless and strained, and there’s pain on his face. 

“Yes I know your highness, that’s sort of my job.” 

The doctor pulls him back from the bed, just a little. 

He turns to look at the short, old man. 

“As of right now, there’s no life threatening injuries, so as long as he manages to keep the wounds from getting infected, he should be fine.” 

“He mainly just needs sleep and bed rest to recover.” 

George sighs in relief and it feels like years of tension have been lifted from his body. For the first time in hours his shoulders relax and his jaw unclenches. 

He looks over at Dream again, then at the doctor standing in front of him. 

“Uhm,” He says, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Ser Dream. Alone.” 

The doctor raises his eyebrow and gives him a knowing look and George scrambles to find a suitable explanation for what a reason why he would need to be alone with the knight. 

“It’s just,” he pauses slightly. “he did some rash and foolish stuff out there tonight, and I need to talk to him to make sure that he doesn’t pull that shit again.” 

George tries to keep his voice sounding serious and formal like he would when discussing any other knight that has gotten themselves injured doing irrational things in the line of battle. 

The doctor looks down at his checklist and hums. 

“Ok, sure. It’s not like there aren’t other men that need taking care of.” 

He walks out without another word and closes the door hard behind him. 

George turns to make sure that the door has been completely shut and locks it behind him before running back over to Dream. 

He thumps his shoulder lightly with his fist while speaking. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid knight.” He says, voice soft and sad, full of the grief which he had been feeling since Dream he left for battle earlier that night. 

Dream winces. 

“Not the shoulder please, my darling.” 

George looks down at where his hand rests on the bandage wrapped around his shoulder. 

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry Dream.” 

Dream musters a smile at him. 

“No, no it’s okay.” He pulls a cocky smirk and George knows what’s coming. 

“Everything’s okay now that you’re here with me, baby.” 

George groans and turns away, now sitting towards the foot of the bed. 

He reaches for Dream’s hand and places a gentle kiss on it, still internally groaning at Dream’s comment. 

“How is it that you still find the energy to be so annoying and cheesy when you are literally laying in a hospital bed, injured?” 

Dream laughs again, softer this time. 

“That’s just the power you have over me, George.” 

George groans even louder this time. 

“I hate you.” 

There’s a fond smile on his face that says otherwise. 

Dream reaches with his good arms and sits up a little and pulls George’s face in to kiss him. 

George leans forwards and wraps an arm around his neck, savoring the kiss. 

Dream smiles against his lips and speaks, low and quiet. 

“What do you say we get out of here?”

George pulls back, contemplating the thought. 

“Is that really such a good idea? I mean the doctor said that you should rest.” 

Dream nods. 

“I’ll rest, but not here.” He waves around the dingy sickbay room with his good arm and George surveys it all. 

“Hm, true,” He says back. “but I don’t want you hurting yourself even more. You could injure yourself worse if we leave right now.” 

Dream pouts at him. 

“But Georgie!” He whines, then laughs. “This bed is so uncomfortable, I’d much rather accidentally pull out some stitches on the way back to your room then have to spend another hour sitting here. Plus, if we go back then I get to relish in the luxury of your fancy royal-person bed.”

George sighs. 

“Is that all you use me for, Dream? My nice bed and the perks of being a prince?” 

Dream scoffs. 

“Well, obviously.” 

George laughs and pulls Dream in again for a quick kiss. 

“Fine then. I guess we can go back to my bedchambers.” He sighs. “I let you get away with so much Dream.” 

Dream pops a cocky smile. 

“You know you do, my prince.” 

George shakes his head and stands up from the bed, gesturing towards the door. 

“Well come on, let’s go.” 

Dream sits up a tad more and winces. 

“You’re going to have to help me a little with that, your highness.” 

George leans over and slings Dream’s uninjured arm over his shoulder, huffing as he pulls the taller man out of bed. 

“Gods, you’re heavy.” 

Dream winces again as he steadies himself on his feet. 

“I’m a knight George, it’s all muscle.” He says, preoccupied with ensuring that he doesn’t fall back onto the bed. 

They walk slowly out of the room, George checking that there’s no one in the hallway as they exit. 

Dream looks around as well, face alert. 

“Don’t you think that we should tell the doctor that I’m leaving?” 

George sighs. 

“Dream, this was your idea. If you wanna pussy out and go back inside the room, by all means, go ahead.” 

Dream doesn’t say anything. 

“That’s what I thought, plus I’m a prince, they won’t care.” George says, flippant. 

Dream laughs a little. 

“You’re probably right.” 

They walk achingly slow through the hallways and up the empty stairwells, keeping an eye out for anyone that might see them. 

When the doors to George’s room finally open and they reach his giant bed, Dream flops onto the down comforter. 

“Ouch-” He groans. “Probably shouldn’t have done that.” 

George chuckles under his breath and sits down next to where Dream now lays. 

“Probably not my darling.” He reaches for the blood-stained shirt that hangs off of Dream’s figure. 

“Can you please for the love of the god, change your clothes? You’re going to get actual blood onto my blanket.” 

Dream replies, but it’s muffled by his face leaning into the pillow and George can only make out a few words. 

“Too tired. You do it.” 

George rolls his eyes and pushes himself up off the bed. 

He remembers when he requested a larger bed for his bedchambers when they had started to get more serious with their relationship, just so that they could enjoy each other’s presence at night and be together as much as possible. He enjoyed sleeping with Dream, and he meant literally sleeping. Dream had already been assigned to watch and protect George at all times, so it’s not like people would be that suspicious of the knight spending his nights in George’s bedchamber. As far as most people know he could very well have another bed for the knight in the room.

After he got the bigger bed as he requested, he and Dream spent every night they possibly could sleeping next to each other, limbs tangled and blankets heavy over their bodies. It was a constant comfort for them, to be able to sleep near one another. 

George rummages through Dream’s stuff in their shared chest of clothes, looking for something suitable for him to wear to bed. 

When he returns with the clothing Dream is already half asleep, getting dirt and dried blood all over George’s pretty blue bedspread. He sighs dejectedly. 

George pokes Dream in the face. 

“Hey stupid, you’re gonna have to wake up a little if you want me to help you.”

Dream just groans and rolls over. 

“God, you’re so fucking annoying. Remind me why I love you again?” George mutters under his breath. 

He looks at Dream and sighs yet again. 

“Can’t even be bothered to take off your god damn shoes.” He continues to mutter as he unlaces the boots and slips them off, discarding them on the floor. 

He gently lifts the blood-stained shirt over Dream’s head and Dream slowly wiggles it off his injured arm. The shirt goes on the floor as well. 

George winces at the sight of the full damage that Dream has taken during the bloody battle out in the forest. His back is mottled with bruises from hitting the hard earth beneath him and in addition to the shoulder injury, which thankfully wasn’t on his axe wielding shoulder, there’s a shallow gash that runs across the whole of his chest and the scabs are raw from the rubbing of his rough cotton undershirt against them. He can’t even count the number of little scratches and cuts that run over his arms and face. George lightly traces the gash on his chest, not really touching it, just sort of hovering his fingers over the damage. Yet another scar that would mark his perfect golden skin.

Not that George really minds the scars, they tell the stories of Dream’s life, and Dream says that if he didn’t have them, then he wouldn't really be who he is. Scars are the way that skin speaks and boy does Dream’s skin have a lot to say. 

After assessing the damage over his torso, George thinks it might just be better to leave him without a shirt rubbing against the fresh wounds. The thick blankets and their shared warmth should be enough to keep them warm throughout the cold night. 

He decides to forgo the shirt and tugs off Dream’s pants, throwing them into the pile of clothes that now sits on the floor next to the bed. 

With the moonlight filtering in through the window and casting a glowy sheen over his body, Dream looks ethereal, even with the dirt in his hair and blood on his skin. George smiles at him and places a gentle kiss on his forehead. 

Dream stirs a little. 

“Hm, did you say somethin…?” He turns his head to George, eyes still half-closed, a dopey smile on his face. 

“No, just go back to sleep Dream, you need it.” 

George steps away from the bed and decides that the day has been long enough and changes out of his clothing and into a light shirt for bed. 

He pulls the covers out from under Dream, much to his disdain, and crawls into bed. 

Dream instinctively rolls over and moves to wrap his arm around George but he stops before completing the motion and takes a sharp breath in through his teeth. 

“Ouch.” 

George frowns a little. 

“I told you not to be stupid out there tonight,” he says. “and look where that got you.” 

His voice is fond and barely higher than a whisper as he holds Dream’s cheek in his hand, now laying face to face with him. 

“I know.” Dream whispers back, pushing himself up closer against George, aching to feel him close to him. 

“They were saying shit about killing you.” He locks eyes with George. “They said horrible things about you and your family and I let my feelings get in the way of my rationale.” 

He looks away from George. 

“I’m sorry.” 

George knows that’s just how Dream is. He loves, and he loves hard, and when he cares about you there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. He’s a kind, caring, loving person, but he’ll also punch a drunk guy who gets too close to you on the dance floor. George supposes that’s why he loves him so much. 

George leans in and presses his lips to Dream’s, soft and gentle, hand still on his face. Dream reciprocates immediately, leaning into it and slotting his leg between George’s bare thighs under the blanket. 

George lets his mouth open just a little, letting the tastes of the battle coat his lips and tongue. It’s salty and ashy, but underneath it all there’s something that’s just undeniably Dream, and he loves it. 

Dream pushes against George harder, nipping at his bottom lip, kissing him with the fervor and fire of a man who faced death straight in the eye and came home alive. 

And George returns the passion as someone who thought their lover was gone forever, lying dead on a field, only to find them alive and heart still beating. 

His mouth moves low for a second, pressing gentle kisses on his neck, feeling Dream’s heartbeat beneath his lips. 

He’s alive. 

He moves his hand up in Dream’s hair, finding a grip in the thick golden waves, the tugs on it, hard. Dream groans low into his mouth and he moves his hand to rest the gentle curve of George’s waist. He goes to grip George tight and pull him closer but winces and breaks the kiss at the pain. 

George sits up to take a look at his arm and can see red blossoming slowly under the thick gauze of his bandaging. 

Dream reaches to pull George’s lips back onto his but George stops him before they fully close the distance. 

“Dream, as much as I would love to,” he grins. “and trust me I’d love to, I just don’t think it’s a good idea tonight.” 

Dream sighs a little, but he’s smiling a little and that makes George happy. 

“Ok true, but don’t you want to celebrate my glorious victory on the battlefield tonight?” 

George smirks. 

“Glorious victory? Dream you got completely wrecked out there, have you seen yourself?”

He jokes, but in all honesty, Dream still looks ridiculously good for someone who spent the entire night fighting his way through an army of soldiers in a dark, damp forest. 

“Well no actually, I haven’t really had the opportunity to check myself out, George. Been a bit too busy almost dying, my love.” Dream retorts. 

George half laughs, half winces and you can almost hear the pain that the thought of Dream even almost dying brings him. 

Then George looks at Dream and he never wants to look away again. Even with his sharply-cut features, his face is soft and kind. There’s dirt in his hair, but that doesn’t diminish the golden shimmer of it in the soft moonlight. As he smiles his eyes wrinkle up in that way that George loves so much and he’s really just so handsome it must be a crime. 

George feels tears start to prickle in his eyes as he lays face to face with Dream, eyes tracking every feature of his lover, rememorizing the lines and curves. 

He doesn’t really notice when those tears begin to stream down his face and onto the soft sheets beneath them, but Dream does. George wiggles in close to the bare skin of Dream’s chest and Dream whispers quiet comforts and softly strokes his hair as his chest heaves. 

He cries and he cries and yet Dream still holds him close to him, doing all that he can do to provide comfort. 

They stay like that long after George’s breathing has mellowed and his tears dried. George doesn’t sleep, because what if he sleeps and when he wakes up this was all a dream and the one person he really cares about really is dead? He knows it’s irrational but he doesn’t want to take the chance. 

As if able to read his thoughts, Dream raises George’s chin up to his face and looks him straight in the eyes. 

“George, look at me. I’m here. I’m alive, and I’m holding you, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

His hands are warm on his chilled skin because of course they are, Dream is always warm. It’s a good reminder that he’s here next to George

Dream presses a kiss to his forehead. 

“I love you so much, my prince.” 

George hums and gives him a quick kiss. 

“Same.” 

Dream wheezes a little. 

“Same? Is that really all you have to say?” 

George grins. 

“Yes, now go to sleep.” 

Dream wheezes again and George snuggles up close against him, eyes struggling to stay open. 

For the rest of the night, they lay there intertwined, the snow still falling hard outside the castle. They cling to each other and George knows he’s never letting Dream go again. Somewhere in the forest, the battle rages on, but they try not to think about that, try to ignore the faint smell of gunpowder and burning trees in the air. After all, they have each other, and what much more do they need to get through tonight?

**Author's Note:**

> this is a bit longer and different than some of the stuff i've been writing lately so i hoped you liked it!  
> come say hi on [twitter!!](https://twitter.com/honey_beb_)


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